


Back Together

by UnderTheCancerMoon



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Comfort Sex, Emotional Healing, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Infidelity, Long-Term Relationship(s), Moving On, New Beginnings, Oral Sex, Pregnancy, Vaginal Fingering, Violence, broken trust, messy ass love story, murder of many ugly ceramics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderTheCancerMoon/pseuds/UnderTheCancerMoon
Summary: Rey discovers her husband has been having an affair with a colleague.Ben's wife abruptly leaves him after telling him she's in love with someone else.An unusual relationship develops as two strangers try to figure out how to put back the pieces of their broken lives.
Relationships: Bazine Netal/Ben Solo, Poe Dameron/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 228
Kudos: 652





	1. Small Crime

**Author's Note:**

> I should be doing homework but... 
> 
> This one is only gonna be 2 or 3 chapters long. I didn't use a Beta for this because I needed to get it posted before I went insane and shot my GPA in the foot.
> 
> MIND THE TAGS! If you don't like infidelity, get to steppin'! This fic ain't for you. 
> 
> Also, not sure why my headcanon is Megan Fox as Bazine, but it is, so I just went with it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://imgur.com/kRe3JdU)   
> 

It started on an unassuming morning, much like any other.

Her body was warm and humming, limbs stretched and sated, skin slightly damp and chilled from the Ashtanga Vinyasa yoga routine she just finished in the bright morning sun.

Their communal laptop rested on the corner of the kitchen island beside a note and a small vase of daisies her husband had left out for her before his departure. As she waited for the kettle to whistle, she opened the top of the computer idly, thinking now could be a good time to do a little research on the closet organizer she promised herself she would get around to ordering. 

She keyed in the computer password: _41Park_. The address of their old apartment, where they had moved in together after dating for two months, and he had proposed to her eight months later—her ring stuffed into the sloppy frosting of a homemade Valentine’s cupcake.

The whistling kettle pulled her attention to the stove. As she stood from her seat, she tapped a loving hand over the note he had left for her by the vase.

  
  


_See you in a few days, my love_

_-Poe_

  
  


Simple, easy. Very Poe.

She grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl, coming back to the kitchen stool with her steeping cup of Earl Grey.

They met the summer she turned nineteen. She picked up some shifts at a Bistro that was one block off from the hectic bustle of downtown. Needing some extra money to help with textbooks she began working weekday nights, picking up shifts here and there from the full-time, senior staff. It was a quiet, relaxed place that always smelled of freshly baked bread and roasted coffee beans. The owner, Maz, grew her own herbs and vegetables on the roof. The small restaurant was cozy, warm, and romantic. Worn wood floors creaked softly as jazz music bounced quietly off the antique tin ceiling. Glowing candlelit tables and a large glass storefront gave a warm, glittering view from the street at night. 

She was relighting a candle that had blown out on a particularly slow evening, standing in the window and lost in her own thoughts while she listened to the rain pattering outside. 

When she looked up, there was a young man standing on the street, watching her, soaked to the bone.

He was paused, mid-step, his bicycle off to his side, his mouth open. 

When their eyes met, he smiled. She blushed.

“You are _beautiful_ ,” he mouthed to her. That grin she would come to know so well for years to come, stretching over his face.

Having never had a stranger, especially one so handsome, compliment her so blatantly, Rey dipped her head a little and laughed. 

“Thank you?” she sheepishly mouthed back. 

And then he was gone, continuing on his way with a wave.

Two hours later, he was back in the doorway, changed into a soft grey sweater and jeans, covered in a chic camel pea coat. His shoes looked like ones she had only seen in fashion magazines. His handsomeness had an airy, yet confident sort of energy to it. Like being so good-looking really was just as easy as waking up and simply washing his face. Nearly effortless. Everyone in the establishment noticed him, he was only focused on her.

He asked her out for a drink, but she was still underage, so when her shift was over, they got ice cream. It felt sweet, innocent even, as they strolled the shimmering city streets, still wet from the rain.

When he took her out for an official first date, he brought her to a small shop where all the photos of the food were posted on the wall and the chubby, elderly owner grabbed his face and kissed his cheeks. The owner and Poe chatted in Spanish each time she brought out another steaming, delicious, and perfect plate of food for them to share. Humming, sated and relaxed, she smiled after he reached across the table and brushed some sauce off of her lip with his thumb. 

She went home with him that night and never left. 

“The first date that never ended,” he liked to say, eyes shining proudly whenever he told the story of ‘them’ to new people. They were one of those disgustingly happy couples who genuinely liked each other. Rey knew it was rare. That she, _they_ , were lucky. 

A notification popped into the corner of the laptop screen. 

**New Facebook Message:**

**Bazine Netal-Solo**

**My phone is dead so I have to message you on here for a bit.**

**Did you land yet?**

**This room is so lonely without you...**

Rey stared at the alert, rereading it over and over, for the 15 seconds or so that it hung on the screen. Her eyes scanned the picture of the dark-haired woman, smiling face covered in big, dark glasses, tanned skin contrasting the stark white bikini she was wearing. She was on the beach, there was a red parrot on her arm.

Rey’s brain buzzed and her fingers trembled. 

The notification slid away into the side of her screen.

This woman was messaging Poe. Her husband. Her husband who had forgotten to sign out of his Facebook account and was apparently meeting this woman in a room of some kind.

Before she had enough control to stop herself, she opened his account and clicked on the red circle in the chatbox. She was scrolling up, through weeks and months of conversation.

**Bazine Netal-Solo:**

**Do you think she suspects?**

**My husband is so clueless, I swear he wouldn’t even notice if I moved out.**

A few more weeks back.

**Poe Dameron:**

**I don’t think we should chat on here if we can help it**

**Too easy to make a mistake**

Rey’s stomach sank, as she shook her head, eyes beginning to fill up.

**Poe Dameron:**

**I can’t stop thinking about last night. When can I see you again?**

She kept scrolling.

**Bazine Netal-Solo:**

**You up?**

**Poe Dameron:**

**I’m in room 315**

Rey’s chest felt tight as she made it to the beginning of their conversations, one year, three months, and 13 days ago.

**Bazine Netal-Solo:**

**I probably shouldn’t be admitting this, but seeing you across the bar tonight was such a relief!**

**Traveling can be such a bitch, it was great to see a familiar face!**

She stared at the screen, jaw slack, heart in a million pieces.

A red dot appeared, showing another new message. She clicked on it.

**Poe Dameron:**

**Just got to the lobby. Hope you’re ready for me**

Rey slapped the laptop closed, her stomach lurching as she deposited her freshly consumed banana and tea straight into the kitchen trash can.

  
  
  


***

  
  


If you had asked Ben Solo months ago three consistent things in his life, he would have answered in this order: 

  1. His marriage
  2. His career
  3. His ever-growing vinyl collection



He married his high school sweetheart as soon as he had the money to buy a decent ring. Their families had warned them that they were too young, but neither he nor Bazine wanted to listen. 

At seventeen, she signed a modeling contract that gave her the freedom to leave her parent’s house, and he landed an internship at one of the most influential business offices in the city. Their first apartment was a small rat-trap. Clustered, tiny, filled with second-hand furniture, twinkle lights, and stacks of milk crates stuffed in corners, full of record albums.

After a few years to save up, they were married in an elaborate and _expensive_ wedding. They had to toast with sparkling apple cider. Their pictures looked like they had been ripped from the center of a bridal magazine.

He had always thought that Bazine was too beautiful for him. Her contrasting light eyes against her shock of dark hair, set on the canvas of her smooth tanned skin. She was so breathtaking people stared at her on the streets and moved around her like she was something magical—like a unicorn in human form. It was incredible to watch, even more so when he remembered that she was his. 

Back in high school, when he was still all skinny limbs, sharp angles, and awkward lines, he had noticed her in the cafeteria his junior year. The clutch of the lunch tray in her hands as her pretty eyes swept the sea of unfamiliar faces before her. He didn’t know what gave him the bravery to leap up and invite the gorgeous new girl to sit with him at lunch, but whatever had possessed him paid off. She said yes, bashfully sliding onto the seat across from him. She said yes to prom, yes again as their inexperienced, half-dressed bodies wrapped around each other on the couch of his parent's basement, and yes yet again, when he slid 2-months worth of salary onto her finger a few years later. 

He had thought that they were meant for each other. Lucky enough to find one another young, ready to spend the rest of their lives together.

So when she stood across from him in their penthouse, weeks before their 10-year anniversary, bag slung over her shoulder, chin tipped up, and her eyes shining, he had to shake his head to process her words. 

“What?” he asked, blinking.

“Ben, it’s over. It’s _been_ over. I’m ready to move on with my life.”

His body felt numb. Everything dull and senseless, from his forehead to his toes. 

He made a noise, something like a grunt, in an attempt to keep the bile rising in his throat from spilling out of his lips. 

“You’re leaving?” None of this was making sense. Everything felt like it was swirling. Like the walls were waving and the floor was shifting. 

“I’m sorry,” and to her credit, she completely choked up. Tears streaming down her stunning and sad face. As if her own actions hadn’t led to this very moment, this confession, this ultimate decision.

He didn’t try to stop her as she went out the door. His mind still reeling, running over everything as her admission to an affair opened the world beneath him and swallowed him whole.

They met on a business trip. He was the photographer, she the model for the high-end purse designer. It was supposed to be a one-time thing that just happened over too many martinis and some good conversation. Two lonely travelers who were seeking comfort in a stranger's company.

They kept getting booked together. Then they started recommending each other and planning trips. They didn’t mean for it to get so carried away. They were already too deep into it when he asked for her to leave Ben. When he promised he was going to tell his wife.

Unsure if he wanted to destroy everything around him or sink to the floor and never stand up again, Ben opted for a deep pour of whiskey.

***

The silence in the house felt deafening. It was something Rey was slowly getting used to.

Almost all of Poe’s things had been moved out. There were still some boxes in the guest room, but considering she refused to even look at him, he was only coming to the house whenever she was guaranteed to be at work.

The betrayal was burnt so deeply into her heart, she couldn’t even stand the sight of him.

When he returned from his trip a few days after her discovery, he hadn’t even gotten his keys out of the lock before she managed to crack her palm against his cheek. Her hand stung, and she was disappointed in herself, never being one to lose control to violence before.

He had wanted to tell her. Had started to several times, but couldn’t manage to get the words out. He never wanted her to find out like this.

But he was in love and he was leaving her.

Just like everyone else. 

The rage in Rey could not be controlled. Fury filled her veins and shook her body as she ripped his clothing from their closets, her words flying at him like poisoned arrows, each one landing with a wince to his face. She had never felt so hurt, so betrayed. At least the people in the past had the sense not to let her think they cared. Didn’t make her think she was loved, _special_ , something to be honored and adored. At least they were open as to how little they cared about her. 

This… this was something far more painful and unfair.

She was on her second glass of wine, cross-legged on the couch, laptop open and scrolling through Pinterest. Channeling her sadness into renovating the bathroom seemed like a healthier option than hand painting a dartboard of Poe’s face she could use as target practice. 

On the television, Jonathan Van Ness was giving the top tips for shiner hair when the soft ding of a notification popped into her inbox. 

**Benjamin Solo wants to chat with you.**

Rey’s heart plummeted to her gut. 

_Solo_. As in Bazine Netal- _So_ _lo_. 

Bazine’s husband wanted to chat with her.

Rey swallowed, and against her better judgment, clicked the notification.

**Benjamin Solo:**

**Did he tell you?**

Tears began to prick at her eyes. She set her wine aside and took a deep breath.

**Rey Dameron:**

**Yes.**

She clicked on his profile picture, curious, and was surprised by what greeted her.

Benjamin Solo was… a _specimen_ , as her friend Rose, would say. 

He looked tall and muscular. The majority of his pictures were tagged photos from Bazine's account. Nearly a foot taller than his petite wife, he seemed to always be bending slightly in towards her as if to compensate for the height difference. 

In his profile picture, they were side by side in front of a fountain, her hand playfully on his chest. Bazine beamed towards the camera, her husband tight-lipped in a sort-of smile. Her hair was long and lacquered, dress hugging her perfect body. His hair was slightly windswept but equally gorgeous. It was almost _criminal_ for two people to be so perfectly quaffed. She idly wondered if they used the same products Jonathan Van Ness recommended. 

They looked like a perfectly happy couple.

But she supposed that she and Poe did too. 

Rey gulped down another rough swallow of wine.

**Rey Dameron:**

**He’s moving out**

**I don’t know where**

**Is she going with him?**

**Benjamin Solo:**

**Probably.**

That twisted something deep in Rey’s gut. It was hard not to be envious.

She wrote the only thing she could think to say.

**Rey Dameron:**

**I’m sorry**

**Benjamin Solo:**

**Me too.**

**For you as well**

**This whole thing is a fucking nightmare.**

Nodding at that, she wiped under her eyes with a bitter laugh. 

**Rey Dameron:**

**Well, I know we don’t know each other**

**but if you ever need someone to talk to, you’re not alone.**

**Benjamin Solo:**

**Thank you, Rey.**

**Neither are you.**

She sat, staring at the words on her screen and wondered if she would ever truly believe that again.

  
  
  


***

  
  


He was drunk the first time he messaged her. 

It felt embarrassing, silly, and stupid that he had allowed himself to even navigate his way to the profile page of the man who had so solidly helped upturn his life. To look into the digital eyes of a stranger and know that this person was part of the cause of his current pain and loneliness. His present heartache.

To scroll through the pictures of his seemingly happy life. See his smiling, glowing, and beautiful wife. Their cat, their home, their vacations. 

Ben hated social media as a general rule, hardly ever using the network himself and begrudgingly applying a profile picture after Bazine set up his account herself. It was fiction in pixels, bandwidth, '0's and '1's. 

All bullshit.

This man, so handsome and charming with a seemingly perfect life, was a fraud. They all were.

He looked down at his empty tumbler with a frown.

Maybe that was the whiskey talking.

Clicking on a picture of the wife, ( _Rey Dameron,_ as it tagged her when he moved the cursor over her picture) he examined her rich, dark hair, the curve of her jaw, and the glossy bow of her lips around a toothy smile.

This Dameron was one selfish asshole. It wasn't enough he had his own stunning wife at home, he had to go out and take another man's too.

Fucker.

He didn't know what moved him to send her a private message. Why he bothered to reach out to a stranger, who meant nothing to him, and with no common tie other than the betrayal that bridged them. 

But he did, in some weak hope that maybe, just maybe, she needed to talk to someone as much as he did. 

The first conversation was brief. No formal introduction, an apology, a confirmation that she was maybe hurting too. 

The second conversation happened a few days later, while he was at work. His email had notified him that he had a new message from Rey Dameron via Facebook messenger. 

He wasn't supposed to use private websites during work hours, but he had already logged in before the thought occurred to him.

**Rey Dameron:**

**Hi.**

**Sorry to bother you**

**Today is especially rough**

**It's the 7th anniversary of the night we met**

**Normally, I would wake up to flowers. I'd leave work early and we would have dinner**

**Then we would go out to ice cream, just like we did on that first night**

**Instead, I am still in bed.**

**I haven't stopped crying since I realized even our cat was gone today**

**He couldn't even leave me the cat?!**

**The house is so empty**

**Sorry to inundate you all at once**

**I just… felt like you might understand?**

**Benjamin Solo:**

**I do**

**I spent the weekend smelling like a swamp bog from the entire bottle of scotch I drank**

**Don't tell anyone, but I also watched Beaches because I thought it might actually be uplifting compared to my current mindset**

The three dots at the end of the messages cycled in and out for another minute or so. 

**Rey Dameron:**

**Maybe I'll do a double feature of Terms of Endearment and Steel Magnolias to cheer myself up too**

**Benjamin Solo:**

**Throw in My Girl and The Fault in Our Stars and you've got yourself a regular feel-good marathon**

**Rey Dameron:**

**My god, I didn't realize how much I needed a laugh**

**Thank you!**

Ben paused, feeling a little proud of himself. On probably one of her worst days, he had made her laugh. That had to count for something on his list of good deeds. 

**Benjamin Solo:**

**I’m here to help**

  
  


***

  
  


It's a week later that Ben messages her while a charcoal and avocado mask dried on her face. It was late, nearly midnight, and she probably should have been in bed an hour ago.

**Benjamin Solo:**

**She changed her name**

Rey frowned before it dawned on her what he was talking about. Her fingers flew across the keyboard in a scurry of pressed keys, only to discover that, indeed, she was just Bazine Netal now.

**Rey Dameron:**

**I'm sorry**

**Are you okay?**

**Benjamin Solo:**

**Yes.**

**No.**

There was a pause as he typed.

**I don't fucking know**

Rey nodded to herself because boy did she understand that. The afternoon sun was rosy and warm when she walked into their home to find that the last of Poe's boxes had finally been taken away. She sat on the floor of their guest bedroom and sobbed, not being able to move again until the room had long turned black and cold.

**Rey Dameron:**

**I just keep telling myself that one day it's not going to hurt so bad**

**That each set of 24 hours brings me closer to a point where the pain will eventually fade**

**It's kind of the only hope I have right now.**

**Which is a little pathetic**

**Benjamin Solo:**

**It's not**

**Rey Dameron:**

**Have you already moved on to divorce proceedings?**

**Benjamin Solo:**

**We have a court date later this month. We don't have a prenup.**

**Rey Dameron:**

**Are you worried about having to fight her in court?**

**Benjamin Solo:**

**No**

**She doesn't want anything**

**Besides to be rid of me**

That put a pain right in the center of Rey's chest. A sympathetic pinch that hit a sharp chord.

**Rey Dameron:**

**Same with us**

**He just wants out**

She could feel the hot tears flooding her eyes as she rapidly tried to blink them away.

**Rey Dameron:**

**I sometimes can't believe this is really happening**

  
  
  


***

  
  


He loaded the Facebook app to his phone. It made it easier that way to reply to her messages.

They talked about a lot of things. Some deep, some mundane. 

He'd found out she was a painter, but now taught art at PS 183. She loved her job and said it made her feel fulfilled.

He felt like nothing he shared was as interesting. His job was stressful, yet somehow boring. He was great at what he did, but there wasn't a lot of adventure or pride he'd found in it. 

They talked about loneliness a lot. Usually later at night, when they were both in bed, missing the company of another person. 

They exchanged numbers at some point, and he deleted the Facebook app.

It's on a random Wednesday when he's standing in line at a taco truck, sticking out like a sore thumb outside the business district, in an expensive blue three-piece, when she texts him. 

**Rey:**

**I was just served**

**Right at the school in the damn teachers lounge**

**I'm mortified**

Ben found himself frowning. He could almost picture her, locked away in a bathroom or hyperventilating in a janitor's closet. 

**Rey:**

**I'm taking the afternoon as a personal day**

**And I'm getting drunk**

**Really, really drunk**

**...and nachos**

Compulsively, he stepped out of line. 

He hit the contact for his assistant and canceled his meetings for the afternoon. 

**Ben:**

**I have the afternoon free if you would like the company**

It seemed like either the best idea he'd ever had or the worst. Yet, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief when she dropped him a pin to an Irish bar four blocks away. 

His eyes needed to adjust as he took the few steps down into the dark and grungy tavern. The smell of fried food, stale beer, and roasted peanuts nearly punched him in the face as he blinked, allowing cones and rods in his eyes to adjust to the lack of sunlight on such a bright day outside.

He saw her right away. She was the only one in there who wasn't above sixty and wearing a page boy cap, after all. 

Her back was to him, covered in a pretty pink floral dress, waist slim, shoulders rolled in slightly as she leaned over the beer before her on the bar. 

Oddly, he found himself slightly nervous as he hesitated in the entryway, hands clenching and unclenching, breath low and slow to calm him.

Maybe this was a weird thing to be doing. Should he be making friends with and going for drinks with the wife of the man who has been fucking _his_ wife? Whose _husband_ left her after returning from a business trip where he probably repeatedly screwed Ben’s wife in a high-end hotel room?

He supposed it was a little too late for all of that now and stepped forward, shoes quietly crunching on discarded peanut shells scattered all over the floor. 

His hand landed on the back of the chair beside her, gripping it to swivel it around. She jolted out of a long-distance stare into the liquor bottles before her, as if shocked, the waves of her pretty brown hair jostling a little as she looked up at him over her shoulder.

Her mouth was open as if she were about to tell him that seat was for someone else, but as their eyes met, her lips fell closed as she blinked up at him silently.

Then there was a smile. Kind and soft and perhaps a little sad. A release relaxed her shoulders as if she had let out a sigh. 

“Ben,” there's another suspended moment before the smile got a little bigger. “Nice to finally meet you.”

She was British. That surprised him.

At this moment he wondered what she was like before all of this. It’s easy to see her natural shine had been dulled by her husband's actions. There’s a sadness in her eyes, and they don’t entirely match the smile on her face, tilted up towards him.

He assumed he probably looked the same way. The two of them, just a little haunted and dingy.

“It’s nice to finally meet you too, Rey.”

  
  


***

It was still bright out when they polished off a gigantic plate of nachos and three beers each. 

Ben was delightfully easy to talk to, although he had once told her he thought one of the problems between him and Bazine was their lack of communication. Or rather, _her_ issue with his ability to communicate.

He had a quiet kindness to him. Something gentle and docile for a man of his size. Rey hadn’t meant to ogle as he had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves when the nachos came, but it was nearly impossible not to. His hands were like catchers mitts, his expensive watch gleamed around his wrist. Even his _forearms_ were toned and sexy. 

She was a little mad at herself for that thought, finding it wildly inappropriate to be thinking such a thing about a poor man who was in a state of emotional crisis. Especially given their relationship ties.

They ordered another round as she relived the horrible embarrassment of being served divorce papers in front of her colleagues. 

“I swear,” she nodded a thanks to the bartender and slid her beer closer, taking a sip of the foam before even lifting it off the bar. “On top of being hurt and embarrassed, it just made me so _angry_. I wanted to just… _destroy_ the teacher’s lounge! Upturn everything, kick over the copier, slap the mugs out of everyone's hands so they shattered on the floor.” She shook her head, leaning an elbow on the bar to prop herself up and face him. 

He was looking down at the remainder of his beer, the freshly poured pint placed a little further up from him on the bar. Smirking, he tipped his head back, finishing off the beer.

“Too bad we don’t have an anger room here.”

She frowned, watching as he replaced the empty glass with the new pint on his coaster.

“What’s an anger room?”

“It’s a room you pay to go in and destroy. They were popular with the businessmen I met in Japan a few years back.”

She made a disappointed little sound in the back of her throat. 

“God it would feel so good to break some shit,” she mumbled quietly into her beer, eyes offset, distantly thinking about a specific soup bowl Poe liked to eat out of whenever he was sick. That would have been cruel, even in her hurt state, but she could almost see the thing bursting into pieces on the floor. 

“I was practically an expert at breaking shit when I was a teen,” he joked, a little darkly.

Rey popped up from the bar, excited. 

“I have an idea!”

Surprisingly, his driver, Mitaka, as Ben introduced him, didn’t even bat an eyelash when he pulled up to them on the sidewalk, surrounded by a pile of junk. He opened the door for her, and she slipped in, her lap full with a cardboard box of mismatched old plates and a slew of ugly ceramic knick-knacks. 

“Would you like the television and the…” Mitaka looked down at the yellow-tinged grey box before him. “Monitor, in the trunk?”

Ben nodded, hefting up a cardboard box full of the glassware they had packed in the Goodwill kitchen section, and sliding it into the back seat beside Rey.

“That’ll be good, thank you.”

She questioned whether this was the best idea, until the moment they were standing in her garage/in-home art studio, goggles strapped to their faces, a sea of sparkling broken glass at their feet. After changing into cover-alls, work boots, and a long-sleeved shirt, Rey tossed a knock off Hummel in the air a few times to test its weight and rotation. Then she pitched it higher, swinging back the bat and spraying the lederhosen-clad kid into several pieces. 

From behind her, Ben gave a low and long whistle, before laughing and taking a sip of beer as he sat on her desk in the corner. He jumped up, making his way across the pieces of glass with the crunch of his shoes. Rey imagined their red soles had to be completely ruined by now. He bent and picked something up before turning to her.

“You beheaded him!” He shouted, holding the little blonde noggin between his fingers. 

They were both laughing on the brink of tears, like two absolute lunatics. 

Rey shrugged, giving the bat in her hand a twirl of her wrist. 

“Wait’ll you see what I do to the ballerina frog.”

Ben tossed the hummel head over his shoulder, reaching out for the bat. She handed it over and took the beer, stealing a sip.

She obviously didn’t think this was the way the day was going to go, or else she would have bought some more. Ben didn’t seem to mind though, perfectly happy to share the four long necks she had in the back of her fridge. They didn’t want to pour them into cups, considering the shards of spraying glass they planned on showering all over the place. 

Stepping back to the desk, she took another sip and sat, shimmying back, so she could rest her back against the wall.

Ben reached into the box, rooting around before pulling out a Precious Moments kid who was already missing a foot.

“Sorry buddy,” he said, looking down at the pastel, droopy-eyed brunette.

He paused, then let the bat fall to the floor with a clatter.

Turning sideways, he took the figurine and hurled it towards the back brick wall of the studio where it burst upon impact.

“Ooh, I bet that felt good,” Rey smiled into the beer.

Ben turned and nodded with raised brows.

“It did. Wanna try?”

She left the beer behind, coming to stand beside him. He bent and handed her the pliéing frog in a tutu. 

“You were too good for this world,” she said with a kiss to its tiara clad head. 

Ben snorted, lifting a small ceramic kitten curled around a ball of yarn. He put it back in the box with a frown.

“What’s wrong with that one?”

“It’s a kitten,” he grumbled over the sound of glass items clinking and tinkling together. “I’m not a _monster._ ”

He settled for a black and orange striped witches hat with purple glitter that spelled out “TRICK-OR-TREAT”. 

“Okay,” Rey turned to face the wall with a nod. She closed her eyes for a brief second, cupping her hands around the frog held under her chin. “This is for all the times you said you were going to fold the laundry and didn’t.” 

She launched the frog to the wall.

When she looked back at Ben, he was watching her curiously. He looked down at the witch’s hat with a nod. 

“This is for making me go to dinner parties with all of those idiot models who weren’t even your friends!” The hat exploded like a firework against the brick. 

She had a chubby Mrs. Claus next. 

“This is for lying to me for an _entire year!_ ” 

Santa's wife disintegrated in a burst of Christmas of glory.

A pig in a polka-dotted sunhat, reading a book, was next for Ben.

“This is for always being late, no matter what we were doing!”

A “see-no-evil” poorly painted monkey got picked up by Rey.

“This is for _always_ having to be right!”

“For wasting my _fucking twenties!_ ” Ben’s tone deepened as the weeping hobo clown hit the wall.

She snatched up a goose in a top hat. “For making me think I _mattered_ to you!”

“For being a bitch to my mother!”

“For never _once_ asking me if I actually got off when you did that “ _thing_ ,” you thought worked every time!” 

“For being a slob!”

“For making me _hate_ someone else!”

Their voices rose, their movements becoming a frenzied repeat of dip, yell, throw. The breaking of glass becoming rhythmic as they hit their angered stride. 

“For talking to me in the first place!”

“For making me question _everything!_ ”

“For liking the fucking Yankees!”

“For making me watch football on Sundays!”

“For making me feel like an asshole every time I tried to _fuck you_ over the last 8 months!” Ben bellowed.

Rey paused, looking down at her palm. In it rested the small grey-striped kitten Ben had saved earlier. It was littler than the others, the ball of yarn about the same size as a golf ball. She put it in her pocket so it wouldn’t get picked up again. 

Ben was quiet, his head down, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes clamped shut, goggles pushed back on his head.

“Fuck,” he whispered, tilting his face up towards the ceiling and blinking the moisture from his eyes. 

Rey shifted, the glass cracking under her feet as she lifted her own safety goggles above her forehead. 

“He did the same,” she said, quietly. She kicked at a severed black boot and it skittered across the landscape of its fragmented comrades. “He had a headache, or he was too tired, or he had gas,” she laughed a little bitterly, shaking her head at the last one. “I was so fucking stupid. It was right in front of my face.”

Ben’s fingers were over his mouth, his other arm folded across his stomach. His eyes, big and glassy. He cleared his throat with a nod.

“I thought it was normal… just a temporary lull.”

She nodded.

Silence suspended the room, the afternoon sun spilling in from the window set high up in the brick wall. It hit the side of Ben’s face, illuminating half his features in flood of warm afternoon light, turning one of his eyes a beautiful honey-gold.

The same sunlight warmed her cheek and glinted into one of her eyes as she looked at him, looking at her. 

He turned away, taking a deep breath, and directing his attention to the floor. 

“You ready to move on to plates?”

She grinned.

  
  


***

  
  


**Rey Dameron:**

**Honestly, I am at like 4 Hummels right now!**

It was their new system of explaining their level of anger or aggravation within the outside world. Ben snorted. 

Then he remembered he was in a meeting, and quickly covered it with a cough. 

When the meeting commenced, Hux hurried behind him out of the boardroom as Ben thumbed away a return message.

“Alright,” his clipped British accent was low, quiet between them. “Who’s the bird?”

“What?” Ben asked, irritably, pocketing his phone in his jacket. 

“The bird, the _girl_. There has to be a girl, no one looks at their phone like that when they're texting with their CFO.”

They reached Ben’s office, and he walked around the desk to sit. Hux plopped right into one of the chairs across from his desk and propped his feet up, arms folded back behind his head.

“I personally think it’s good that you’re moving on so quickly! I mean, Baz certainly didn’t hesitate.” 

Sourly, Ben swiped Hux’s feet off his desk with a growl.

“I’m not dating anyone. I’m still married.”

Hux lowered his arms, a sad look spreading over his face. 

“Bloke, you don’t actually—”

“No!” Ben spat out, running a hand through his hair. He knew Bazine was done. He knew their marriage was over. “I know we’re not going to get back together or make it work. I _know_ that. But I’m not about to wrap someone else in this garbage while we sort through it.”

Hux’s nose wrinkled as he made a disgusted face.

“Not even a willing pity-fuck?”

Ben cast him a wry look over some documents.

“I’m just saying… when all the other young guys were out, partying and spilling their proverbial oats into condoms, you were at home with Bazine. You missed out on the entire sexual peak of your twenties! You should be making up for lost time like the fucking Energizer bunny!” He gave a few upward pumps of his hips for emphasis. 

“Why are you still here?”

Hux huffed, rising to stand, buttoning his suit coat. 

“You were a good husband. Certainly the best of all the shits I know, but now’s the time to get out there and have some fun! Go live a little, Solo!”

Hux gave him a salute before turning off and striding down the hall. 

Ben waited until he was gone before he pulled out his phone.

**Rey: We still on for tonight?**

**Ben: Wouldn't miss it**

It was when he realized that he was smiling down at his phone like a love-sick teenager, that he thought that maybe Hux wasn’t as big of an idiot as he had once thought him to be. 

  
  


***

  
  


Rey giddily placed the last of the bowls of food on the table, giving herself a little clap.

She was so excited to get to cook for Ben. She hadn’t been able to cook for anyone in ages. Not since she and Rose shared a studio walk up the year they both turned eighteen. And not since Poe started traveling more and more for work. 

And sure, there was no way they could eat as much as she had made, but she figured it would at least stock him up with some leftovers for a few days. 

The doorbell rang, and she ran to the door, pulling it open with a grin, her hair puffing gently back from the action. She leaned dramatically against the doorway. 

“Beauregard,”

“Gertrude,” he replied, lips twisting in a smirk.

“You mustn't come in, the place is in shambles,” she placed her hand to the back of her head and slid a little further down.

“Shambles just happen to be… my favorite? Ah, _fuck_ , I’m never going to win this game!” He laughed, handing her a bottle of wine with a kiss to the side of her face. She hugged his shoulder on her tiptoes. 

He smelled fantastic. Like bergamot, a hint of pine, and pure warmth. She knew that didn’t make a lot of sense, but it was where her brain went when she snuck a sniff into his shoulder.

For the first time since they started these little dinner nights, he looked fully relaxed. Dressed in a lightweight button-down, cuffed at the sleeves, and shorts. Even casual for him looked like something out of a men’s catalog. 

“But at least you try,” she offered playfully, padding barefoot back to the kitchen, head bowed, reading the wine label. 

It was silly. It started one night after watching a black and white movie where everyone talked in clipped, Transatlantic accents. They spent about a half-hour, laughing, attempting to speak in the old-timey dialect. It had somehow become a game as to who could pull it off longer, which Ben usually failed miserably.

She grabbed a wine key and smiled as music began to float through the house. 

  
  


***

Her legs looked incredible in her cut off shorts. He knew this was the first time he had seen that much of them because it hit him right in the groin in the most embarrassing sort of way. 

He detoured as she made her way to the kitchen, stopping at the small vintage record player in the den he had bought for her. Setting the bag of albums he selected for the night on the chair beside it, he switched the antique on. 

“What’d you bring tonight?” She called from the kitchen. It made him smile. He liked that she liked this. Something as simple as dinner and a vinyl playlist. 

He dropped the needle and the opening drum beats and guitar of the _Funky Kingston_ album flowed out of the speaker before him.

She was dancing a little when he walked into the kitchen. Smiling, she swayed to the island beat, grabbing his hand and whirling under the bracket of his arm as she lifted it over her head. 

Dinner was an amazing feast. Rey was quite the cook, seasoning and spicing everything to absolute perfection. She glowed when he complimented everything for exactly how delicious it was. 

An album change brought them to her couch after she stuffed a series of Pyrex containers for him to take home and probably feed him for a week. He sat down beside her, as she relaxed on the couch, head tipped back, a lazy smile on her lips.

The windows were all open in the house, allowing a sweet suburban, spring breeze to blow through, carrying Otis Redding’s voice with it.

She hummed peacefully.

“This is perfect.”

With her eyes closed, he had a moment to study her features. Her soft curved mouth, leading up to a pretty pert nose. Her dark eyebrows, sooty lashes, and slightly pinked cheekbones. The faintest trail of freckles that dotted across her fair skin. 

Rey was an attractive woman. He had obviously known that from the moment he saw her profile online. But he had never really let himself gaze at her like this before. Really take his time and see the detail that made up her beautiful face.

“Poe and I never did anything like this, you know? Even when we were younger, well, I guess when _I_ was younger.” She frowned, brows knitted together. He was afraid she was going to open her eyes, and he wouldn’t get to look at her anymore. 

She kept them closed. 

“We spent all those years together, but we never just… I dunno, _relaxed_ together. Enjoyed the company of each other while doing something as simple as listening to music.” She let out a deep sigh through her nose, then smiled softly again. 

“I guess I have you to do that with now.”

Ben felt something blooming in his chest. A warmth that was spreading through him, moving through his limbs all the way down to his fingers and toes. 

Otis sang in the background about the pain in his heart, and Ben watched the delicate movement of her throat while she swallowed. The gentle rise and fall of her chest. In a wild moment, he imagined being able to trail a finger along the collar of her tank top. How soft her skin would be, how it would turn pink under his touch. He imagined what her breast would feel like, warm, the nipple beading into his palm. How smooth her bare thighs would be if he got to run his hands over those too. 

Her shorts were maddening, and his cock was getting harder just thinking about her legs.

“Yes, you do,” he said, but it came out a little too thick and rough to go unnoticed. 

There was a wrinkle in her brow, as she turned her head to the side and opened her eyes.

Her mouth parted just a little as they held each other's soft stare.

“We could do other things for each other too,” she quietly whispered as he tried to still the booming of his heart.

He nodded, his throat feeling thick. He licked his lips and her eyes dropped to his mouth. 

“We could,” he agreed, quietly.

“Help each other feel better,” her eyes trailed over his shoulders, down his chest, and to his lap. There was no hiding what was there. Her eyes flit back up to his. “I would like for you to help me feel better, Ben,” she said softly.

His fingers trembled as they landed gently on the soft skin at the top of her thigh.

She held his gaze as she moved down on the couch, parting her legs a little further. 

The pads of his fingers trailed up to the frayed edges of her cut-offs.

“Like this?” He asked, gently, the tips of his fingers seeking out her warmth. She squirmed, legs coming further apart for him. He turned his hand, pushing it between her legs, cupping her sex as she jolted with a gasp. 

“Yes,” she breathed, eyes flashing between his. He gave her a slow, firm roll of his fingers, the seam of her shorts pushing into the seam of her. 

Shifting closer to her, his arm came up behind her on the back of the couch, cradling her in. He removed his hand, working the button and fly of her jeans quickly. His greedy fingers craved her heat once again, slipping beneath the band of her underwear. Her belly clenched slightly as he touched her, a slight intake of breath coming from her mouth.

Chuckling, he pressed a kiss to her exposed shoulder.

“Are you ticklish?”

“A little.”

She was wet when his two fingers slid between her lips. It made his dick pulse and a groan grind out of his throat. 

“I’m not,” his mouth was moving up to her neck, tasting her skin as it went. 

“I’ll find out if you are,” she gasped as his coated fingers pushed inside her, her hands flying up to grip at his bicep. 

His thumb circled purposefully over her clit, pulling a little whimper from her mouth. 

He kissed her throat as her hand drifted down, gripping him through his pants. 

“Fuck,” they both whispered at the same time. 

She gave him a long, firm stroke, and he rested his forehead against her for a moment, reveling in the feel of her touching him in such a perfect way. He pumped his fingers, in and out, thumb coming back in intervals, then leaving before she could be sent over the edge.

One hand freed him from his shorts, the other moved fingers through the hair of his nape. She was starting to rock into him, meeting his rhythm, sweet sounds of her pleasure escaping from her parted lips. Her fingers coiled around him, and he sucked in a breath, the feeling of her holding him being almost too much. Her thumb rubbed the bead of pre-cum over his glans. 

She ran up and down the length of him, adding a little twist at the top that was going to make him come in no time. 

“Ben, _yes_ …” she let her head fall back again and purred. “That’s it...” he watched as her hooded eyes looked up at him, so needy, on the brink of release.

It occurred to him that he hadn’t even kissed her yet. 

He slanted his mouth over hers, and when their tongues met, she jerked with a cry, her body pulsing and clamping down on his fingers. Her pumping of him paused, and she bucked a little off the couch, fingers squeezing the hair at the base of his skull. She licked into his mouth as she shuddered again.

Her hand resumed its rhythmic motion. 

He pulled his fingers from her shorts, and as soon as he did, she was pushing his chest to have him recline back.

Her warm perfect mouth closed over his cock and he nearly curled over her in a wave of weakness.

“Oh God, Rey,” he breathed, gently brushing her hair from her face and knotting a handful behind her head. 

The sight of his dick disappearing into her hollowed cheeks was nearly too much for him. 

“Rey, I’m gonna...” he warned, his stomach clenching as he fought the urge not to come in her mouth. 

She hummed and that brought him right to the brink. Gently, he let his hold on her hair guide her a little faster. His instinct was to pull away the moment before he released. Bazine would have had a fit if he came in her mouth.

Rey gripped his thighs, pushing down, locking him into place. Her eyes looking up at him and a determined pull of her mouth sent spurting hot streams of himself loose to the back of her throat. 

Ben wasn’t sure he had ever come so hard. 

She sucked a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his head that caused Ben to jump at the over-sensitivity. 

He pulled her up to tuck her under his arm, her head on his chest.

They listened peacefully as chords to _I’ve Got Dreams to Remember_ drifted through the house.

  
  


***

  
  


It happened so naturally, she’s not even sure how they ended up as they did. 

Ben was large and warm and gentle. He touched her like she was something precious. Cradled her head when he kissed her, let his mouth pull pleasure from her in the most gorgeous and intense kind of way.

She was putty in his hands. Malleable, softly melting, willing to do whatever he wanted. 

And he wanted to make her feel good. To have her breathlessly chant his name like an incantation as they chased their rapture together.

She loved his mouth. His big and firm body, that was somehow soft and comforting. How his hands moved over her skin as he took the time to know all of her.

“I’ve—” his breath was short when they fell into bed together. She could still faintly taste herself on his lips as the thick weight of him pushed against the hollow crook of her thigh, just beside her center. She was panting too, and she paused to hold his face in her hands. 

“I’ve only ever been with Bazine,” he confessed, his eyes soft and worried in the dark.

She nodded quietly, thumb grazing his bottom lip before she kissed him, and he pressed inside her. 

Poe had been her only person too, and now here they were. Together.

The morning was deary, casting the entire bedroom in a hue of grey, blue, and black. It was Saturday. A perfect day to lie around the house, listen to music, cook, and enjoy the rain.

Ben’s nose nuzzled into her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her waist from behind. She could feel him, already hard against her bottom, so she moved her leg and gently guided him into her from behind.

Moaning softly with a kiss to the back of her neck, he gripped her waist and fucked into her slowly.

The room filled with the sound of the rain on the roof and their sighs. The soft noises of their bodies meeting, as whines and moans fell from their lips. 

When she came, he had her half pinned into the mattress, fingers working at her clit, his solid chest pressing to her back, dick gliding in and out of her at a steady pace. Her eyes felt wet as his pace quickened and a strong arm pulled her closer to him. He groaned her name into the hair beside her ear as she felt a tear slip down her cheek. 

The heat of him filled her and it wasn't until after he had come that he realized she was crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asked so gently, so genuinely, turning her to face him. It only made the tears flow more openly.

She shook her head, unable to get the words out. 

“Rey,” his hand was large and warm as it cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her tear-streaked face. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

Looking up at him in the barely lit grey room, she found the courage to nod when she saw his eyes and the concern shining through them.

“I think I’m in love with you,” she gurgled, sadly. 

She felt like she had betrayed him somehow. Like she had crossed the line of this _thing_ , whatever it was between them, and now she had ruined everything.

She was too clingy. Too broken. Too willing to get attached to anyone who would show her even an ounce of affection. She had done it to Poe, and now it was happening with Ben. 

Softly, he laughed and pulled her onto his chest with a kiss to her head.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

Confused, she sniffed, as she wiped at her face with a hand.

“Isn’t it, though? We’re both still _married_ , our partners left us for each other. W-we are both vulnerable and I shouldn’t be putting that kind of expectation on you.” 

He hummed, thoughtfully, hand moving comfortingly up and down her back.

“I guess,” he said, lips pressed to her forehead. “But I think it’s a good thing.”

She tilted her head up to see him. “You do?”

“I do," he said confidently. "Because I think I’m in love with you, too.” 

There wasn't even enough time to process what he had just told her, because from the first floor she heard Poe's voice calling out her name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeyyyyyoooooo, just out here ruining lives, guys!
> 
> I commissioned the amazing [@lucia_rinkel](https://twitter.com/lucia_rinkel) for art of Rey and Ben during the "knick-knack massacre". It's gorgeous!  
> 
> 
> I'm on Twitter @UnderCancerMoon
> 
> Song Inspos: 
> 
> [9 Crimes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDn7-xC2A8E&list=PL1Y1jVOSkHsv-9d2Y2a7TizlQdrHSEQgR)-Damien Rice  
> (This entire fic is pretty much based off this album)
> 
> [Pain in My Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=158fwCG27zE)\- Otis Redding  
> (Sexy time song)
> 
> [Dreams to Remember](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i2RGu1v5388)\- Otis Redding  
> (Cuddle time song)
> 
> [Time Tough](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TXxOU49TVKA)\- Toots & The Maytals  
> (Kitchen dancin' music)


	2. I'm tied to you like the buttons on your blouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back! Ready with a heaping dose of angst and a little bit of fluff for your weekend. Enjoy!
> 
> [JenfysNest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenfysNest) was kind enough to Beta this for me. I love her.

The emergency room was packed for noon on a Saturday. They were going to be there for hours.

Poe, due to his injuries, was whisked right away through the heavy, double wooden doors that automatically locked when they closed, separating the waiting room from the hospital itself.

The triage nurse at least had the decency to give Ben an ice pack and a long strip of gauze to wrap sloppily around his split knuckles in an attempt to stop the bleeding and swelling. Most of the blood on his face was gone now, swiped away on the ride there by a towel stolen from her kitchen, in the flurry and panic of them leaving the house.

An annoyance still radiated off of Rey as they sat, side-by-side, listening to some obnoxious children’s show reciting nursery rhymes, turned just one notch above irritating on the television hanging from the corner.

“— _all the king's horses and all the king's men_ —” chanted high-melodic voices.

Rey screwed her eyes shut, willing away an edging headache.

It seemed perfect actually, now that she thought about it. Just adding to the pile of dumb shit that occurred on what could have been a perfect day, spent lazing around in each other’s company.

They could be laughing in her kitchen right now. Ben, leaning over the island to spoon-feed her leftovers. They could have still been in bed, losing track of the hours and orgasms and kisses as the world outside of her bedroom flooded and washed away without a single care from either of them.

Leave it to her asshole, pig-head of a husband to ruin that too.

They had finally reached a confession, a place where they gave in to the unrelenting pull towards each other. To have them end up here.

With a tired sigh, her head fell to rest against Ben’s shoulder. It softened a little under the weight of her temple, his ridiculous gauze wrapped hand falling to her knee.

“I’m sorry,” he rumbled, face turning to press into her hair. She closed her eyes again, relishing in the warmth. His voice remained low, barely above a regretful murmur. “I heard you talking and then I heard someone hit the ground and…” His left arm, the non-injured one, coiled around her waist, drawing her in tightly. He let out a deep sigh that heated her scalp, sending goosebumps rippling across her skin. “The rest of it is a little blurry.”

It wasn’t for her.

Ben’s entire body had tensed beneath her at the sound of Poe’s voice in her home.

She sprang up from bed, hastily pulling the nearest available shirt over her head as she ripped her dresser drawer open and tripped into a pair of sweatpants.

But Ben was already up in his disrobed glory. Firm and fierce, hands balled into fists at his side. Like an angry, muscled watchdog at attention. If the situation wasn’t a dire state of emergency, she thought she may want to paint him that way.

Rey jumped before him, her hands fluttering over his shoulders and chest, which rose and fell heavily.

“Ben,” she hushed nervously, pressing her palms securely against his pecs, feeling the rhythmic pound of his heart in her palms. There was no way she could stop him. He was just too big. His face was in a bit of a snarl, jaw clenched tight, his eyes locked on the doorway to her bedroom.

Poe’s voice called out for her again.

“Ben please,” she begged, his sharp eyes and furrowed brow finally directed her way. “ _Please._ Just stay here. I will get rid of him. I’ll get him to go.”

She watched the slow grind of his jaw, the pulse under his left eye, and the tendons tighten in his neck. He let out a pressed sigh from his nostrils and nodded.

Rey was out the door and scurrying down the stairs as fast as she could, only to nearly knock Poe right over at the bottom.

She tripped backward on the last step and he steadied her with his hands.

“Why weren’t you answering me?” He questioned as his hands drifted back down to his sides.

“What are you _doing_ here?” She growled through grit teeth, folding her arms across herself on the step above him.

His eyes washed over her quickly. She was sure she looked a mess, all bed-rumpled, red-faced, and surely bleary-eyed. He looked surprisingly… hurt.

But that wasn’t her problem.

“I sent you a bunch of messages this morning. I wanted to make sure the basement wasn’t flooded with all the rain.”

Rey’s scowl deepened, now thoroughly annoyed.

“You couldn’t wait for me to text you back? You had to come in here and wake me up early on a Saturday morning?”

“It’s 11:30...” His eyes flashed up the stairs to where the bedroom was located.

Her hands raised to her temples and she gave them a rub with the heels.

“The basement is fine, Poe.”

“You’ve checked?”

Letting out a slow, deep breath, she closed her eyes.

“We restored the crown last year. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“So you _haven’t_ checked?”

“Poe!” She dropped her hands to her side, exasperated.

“Those used to be the things I took care of, Rey!” He said, defensively. “They’re not things you ever had to think about—”

“ _And whose fault is that?_ ” she scoffed. "If you were so worried about the damn basement, why didn't you just let yourself in the storm door and check it? You didn't need to come in the house!"

Poe nodded slowly, jaw working, frown settling in.

“Yeah, you’re right…”

He was past her before she ever had the chance to stop him.

“Whoever’s up there, _I’d like for you to know that’s my wife you’re fucking!_ ” His voice bellowed furiously, as he took the stairs two at a time.

The shock wore off and a full-blown panic set it. Rey did the only thing she could think to do. She clawed up the stairs after him, and right before he got to the landing, she grabbed his ankle, sending him to the ground with a grunt and a thud.

The next three things happened simultaneously:

“ _The fuck_ , Rey!” Poe yelled, rolling onto his back to look down at her, incredulously. “You could have broken my—”

“Just get the fuck out of here, Poe!” Rey screamed, her patience lost.

And Ben whipped open the bedroom door, blessedly dressed, but ready to fight.

There was a moment, where it felt like the universe had come to a standstill. As if the rain froze mid-air, the earth no longer spun, and air surrounding them became vacuous as the two men finally locked eyes in person.

Poe’s face wrinkled in disbelief, a quiet, “What the…” falling from his lips as the recognition swept over his face and he bared his teeth.

“You’re _fucking my WIFE?!_ ” He roared, flipping off of his back, feet scurrying for a few moments as he raced to stand.

“Yeah, _how’s that feel?_ ” Ben spit back charging forward.

Poe caught him low around the waist, powering him backward into the wall, knocking the painting there off its mount and to the floor. Rey watched in horror, still splayed out across the steps on her belly, as he got a few good shots to Ben’s ribs and Ben’s fists rained down on him from above.

Ben was big, his swings powerful and damaging, but Poe was quick and agile, moving swiftly, landing multiple hits.

Rey couldn’t even hear herself screaming anymore by the time Ben hit Poe so hard he stumbled back, clearly dazed.

“Stop!” She shrieked, throwing herself in the path of the two angry beasts. Poe was at her back, her arms spread out, shielding them from each other. Ben’s eyebrow was split open, causing a steady river of blood to flow down his face. His lip was split too.

“Please stop,” she begged, sobbing.

The blackness in Ben’s eyes began to soften and he fought to catch his breath. He straightened up from his crouched, attack position, turning away slightly, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“Shit,” he muttered, looking down at the smeared blood.

She turned just in time to see Poe’s eyes roll into the back of his head. Reaching for him, she just missed his arm as he fell backward, his head hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

Rey screamed, immediately dropping to his side.

“ _Oh God, oh God_ ,” in a moment of pure hysteria, she checked his pulse. His heartbeat was still strong against her fingertips and she breathed a sigh of relief. She looked over her shoulder to Ben. “He hit his head.”

He didn’t say anything, just scowled, opening and closing his right hand with its bloody knuckles, teeth bared.

“We need to take him to the hospital!”

“Let Bazine bring him to the hospital,” Ben bit back in a scoff.

“Ben!” she barked.

He looked up at her and sighed.

They must have looked like the smallest and most demented of dark parades. She, the hysterical drum major, sans baton, Ben following, fireman-carrying his garnet-streaked archnemesis on their route down the stairs, to the backseat of her car in the pouring rain.

Ben dropped into the passenger’s side with a grunt of discomfort, her novelty dish towel that read “I rock out with my crock out” swiftly blooming with carmine clouds, as he attempted to stop the blood rivulets taking over half his features.

Ben's sleek black Audi was parked in Poe's spot as they backed out of the driveway, and suddenly the random visit seemed to make a lot more sense.

She felt like her jaw could snap under the pressure of her own teeth clenching. She tossed a sideways glance to Ben.

“Are you okay?”

He sniffed, then winced with a pressed breath out through his nose. “Probably got a fractured rib or two. Gonna need some stitches.”

“Your head feel okay?”

“Not as bad as his, I’m sure.”

Poe moaned from the backseat, head lolling with the motion of the car.

They drove in silence for a little while, before Poe took in a sharp breath.

“Sunshine… oh God," he groaned painfully. "Why do I hurt so bad?” he slurred.

Her grip tightened on the steering wheel at the sound of her pet name. The one he had given her when they were first engaged and she had worn a yellow sundress to a midsummer cookout. When he grinned and kissed her and said she shone brighter than the sun itself.

Her eyes flicked up to see him in the rearview mirror, all bloody and disorientated, one eye blown crimson from a punch.

“You were in a fight, Poe. I’m bringing you to the emergency room. You hit your head,” she tried her best to keep her voice even, but it wavered with emotion.

He made a noise, a little grunt of understanding.

“I just wanna go to bed, baby.” He whined, his voice light, punch-drunk and almost childlike. “Can’t we just go to bed and sleep it off?”

Rey couldn’t control the unrelenting quiver of her lip, couldn’t fight the building of searing, hot tears in her eyes.

“No,” her voice was pinched when it came out. “We have to go to the hospital.”

Poe let out a low moan of frustration. Then he started to hum, before sliding into song.

“... my only sunshine,” he garbled, head falling back against the seat once again, eyes sliding closed. “You make me happy when skies are gray, you’ll never know dear, how much I love you…” the rest faded into a mumbled mess as he drifted off to silence again.

Fat, uncontrollable tears rolled down her cheeks as she gasped quietly for breath.

Comfortingly, Ben’s hand moved over and rested on her knee, just like it was now in the waiting room.

***

It’s an hour of being tortured by sing-alongs and poorly produced ads for local attorneys before Ben looked up and realized his worst fear was moments away from coming true.

“Fuck,” he cursed, as Bazine came hurrying in the sliding glass doors and then stopped abruptly at the sight of him. Her face morphed into the picture of fury, as she charged forward, eyes fixed on him.

“What the _hell_ is going on?” she hissed, stomping to stand before him, hands planted on LuluLemon clad hips, baggy sweatshirt pooling around her midsection, white teeth gnashing. “I get an incoherent text message that Poe is in the emergency room with a concussion and a fractured ocular bone and my husband is the one who put him there?! Have you _lost your mind,_ Ben?"

Her voice was shrill, far beyond a point of hysteria he had ever witnessed from her before. He hadn't seen her in almost two months. Not since she casually dropped by the penthouse, claiming she left her childhood photo album in the study and leaving him to feel shattered and empty for the rest of the afternoon. The gain of a few pounds was evident in her cheeks, which surprised him a little, considering what a stickler she was for counting macros.

"Did you do all of those years of anger therapy for nothing? You know _better_ than this! You _are better_ than this!”

He remembered suddenly that Rey was beside him. Perfectly still, yet radiating with roiling, nearly tangible anger. Felt her utter rage at the proximity of his still wife as she stood before him. He didn’t even have to turn to look at her.

Bazine sighed, a shaky hand coming up to touch her forehead.

“Are you okay?” she asked weakly, her eyes starting to glisten.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, looking off into the middle distance somewhere. He didn’t want to see sympathy in her deep blue eyes. Couldn’t stand the sight of her worry or concern. Not now anyway. Not after everything.

Mostly, he just wanted her to go away. It hurt to have her near him.

She nodded with a sniff, eyes finally drifting to Rey. To Ben’s utter shock, she extended her hand.

“Hi, I’m Bazine. Ben’s," she hesitated briefly. " _ex_ -wife.”

Never one to be the best at reading a room, he shouldn’t have been surprised that Bazine couldn’t feel the electrical current that was floating in the atmosphere like a thunderbolt ready to crack open the sky.

“Mrs. Dameron?”

 _Boom_ , Ben thought, as a middle-aged nurse in purple Snoopy scrubs called out Rey’s name, alerting Bazine to the hulking elephant in the room. He readied himself to grab Rey by the waist as she made a lunge to pluck out Bazine’s pretty azure eyeballs.

Instead she stood dignantly, leaving Bazine's hand hanging dumbly between them.

“Rey Dameron,” she offered curtly, shouldering her purse and making her way to the nurse with the clipboard.

He watched as Bazine’s mouth dropped open and remained as such, the realization slowly developing in her mind, as she watched Rey move through the doors to the ER.

She looked back at Ben.

“Why is she here?”

Ben shifted down in his seat, stretching out his legs and resting his head to the back of the chair with a heavy sigh, moving the ice pack from his hand to his brow.

“Heard her boyfriend beat up her husband,” he grumbled. He wasn’t even really sure what he and Rey were, but it felt good to say it. Felt even better to say it to Bazine.

Bazine, who was looking at him, horribly confused through a frown that creased her whole face. He rolled his eyes.

“She’s with me,” he paused and then motioned towards the ER doors. “And Poe,” he spat out the name like it was a piece of bad shrimp.

Bazine’s eyes narrowed, her eyebrows nearly touching from scowling so hard.

“What do you mean with you?” she growled.

When he didn’t answer, she kicked at his foot.

“What do you mean _with you_ , Ben?” she asked, this time slow and with a hint of danger.

He huffed.

“Connect the dots, Zee.”

There were a few seconds of silence as they held each other in a standoff of glares, before something came in contact with the side of his knee. It was her purse. He sat up again, irritated.

“Is this some kind of _joke?_ ” She screamed, looking like she could pounce on him and possibly attempt to scratch his eyes out now. “Some fucking revenge game you two cooked up?”

Ben looked at her disdainfully and sneered.

“Get over yourself.”

“Of all the women in the world, you get cozy with Poe’s wife and you’re telling me I need to get over myself?” She shrieked, catching the attention of other people in the waiting room.

Ben jumped up despite the rip of pain that rocketed through his midsection, crowding over her angrily for the first time in their relationship. If she was worried, she didn't show a single hint of alarm. Not even a flinch as she scowled up at him indignantly.

“Yes, because for once, _Sweetheart_ , this ain’t about you!”

"Benjamin Solo," called the same nurse, this time not even looking up from the clipboard in her hands.

Ben turned, intending to leave his stunned, soon-to-be-ex-wife alone in the waiting room. Bazine scuttled after him hotly.

"She stays out here," he snapped to the nurse, passing her as he stormed through the doors leading to the hospital entryway.

He heard the commotion she caused behind him, before the solid wooden doors closed, blocking out her voice completely.

***

It was well into the afternoon before they made it back to Rey's, where the first thing they did was set off to clean up the mess of her second-floor hallway.

They worked in silence, Rey using a magic eraser on the walls to clean off the smeared and splattered blood, Ben nursing his left side tenderly, applying carpet cleaner to the rug. Eventually, she shooed him away, urging him to go downstairs as she rehung the art and straightened the runner table and the vase, photos, and mementos that topped it.

When she came downstairs, he was sitting on the couch, hand pressed to his ribcage, face a stern reflection of his own thoughts.

Rey paused before taking a seat beside him.

"I think I'm going to go," he said softly, something lurking in his voice she couldn't quite place.

Surprised, and admittedly, a little disappointed, she nodded.

"Okay, yeah…" it was stupid, but she felt like she could almost cry again.

He stood from the couch with a pained groan, shuffling to the door to slip on his shoes by the doorway.

Rey felt her heart sink further and further into the pit of her stomach. Like a fiery sun slowly disappearing into the horizon of a deep blue ocean at sunset, leaving her to feel cold. Lonely.

"Call me if you need anything," she told him. She wanted to grab him. Beg him to stay. Pull his arms around her until he hugged her tight, cracked ribs be damned.

He answered with a silent nod, eyes to the ground, before leaving.

When the door closed, she pressed her back against it and tried her best not to let the racing half of her mind sabotage the rational half. He was probably tired. Maybe he had plans in the morning. He hadn’t even intended to stay last night, what made her think he would spend tonight there too?

She felt empty and it made her angry.

Because it was pathetic to be so attached. Pitiful to want the company of another person so badly you ached in their absence.

And she was afraid. That something had shifted, something had changed.

Swearing that she was not going to allow her night to get any worse, she put a pin in those thoughts and busied herself.

She painted for an hour or two, lost in the drag and swirl of acrylic across the cross-stitch of canvas. A visual loop of two days, one perfect, the other terrible, rolled through her head as she took a long bath and then changed into a pair of soft cotton shorts and a t-shirt.

She thought about Poe and his brain-rattled serenade. About the irrational anger that swept over him at the realization that another man was in his house. The house he actively abandoned. About Bazine's slim, manicured hand reaching out to her and how badly she wanted to slap it away. How a woman could be so self absorbed that she could sleep with someone else's husband and not even bother to remember what his wife looked like.

How Ben could have been with a person like that.

He had left his bag full of records in the den. She sifted through them as she sipped on red wine. Some were old, the cardboard edges soft, worn, and fuzzy, some brand new, crisp and sharp. She picked one she had never heard, lowering the arm of the player, the needle landing and filling the room with soft static.

A rough, slightly warbled voice filled the air, backed by a twanging guitar and drums.

She just listened as she laid across her couch. No distraction, no diversion. Just the music and the red wine resting on her belly, the stem held down by her hand.

The album had to be almost over when a knock sounded at her door.

Ben stood on the porch, as a bright white moth fluttered and bonked into the sconce above him, causing the light to blink and flicker slightly.

His mouth hung open, hollow of words, but his eyes said all she needed to know.

On his shoulder was a duffle bag.

Rey smiled and reached forward for his hand, pulling him inside.

He kissed her tenderly, hands cupping her face, thumbs softly brushing at her cheekbones.

Upstairs, she gripped her headboard as she gently lowered herself over his face, his large hands guiding her, urging her to relax, to let him ease what troubled her. His fingers prodded and stretched her, his mouth open, latched to her clit, sucking and swirling and she swore she had never felt anything like it before. It overwhelmed her, made her feel fragile and fevered, as the threat of tremors took over her body. A finger gently massaged the tight cluster of muscle at her backside, gently pressing in and tipping her over the edge, as she tightened around him, feeling like he was everywhere inside of her.

Ben moaned as he continued to lap at her, even after she was breathless, the swell of another orgasm cresting over her as she keened, curling above him, her forehead falling to the headboard still clutched by her hands.

She kissed over the galaxies of blue and green and yellow bruises across his stomach, mouth creating a roadmap to the universe that was his body. She brought him right to the edge with her lips, tongue, and fingers, before she took him inside of her and commanded that he let her do all of the work.

Her name fell from his lips in waves, as he laid back and watched, hands tight on her thighs, and she thought that this was what it was like to be adored. To be worshipped.

Later, as she was just about to be welcomed into the warm embrace of sleep, he sighed above her, his arm coming up around her shoulder, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear.

“I’ll never leave you,” he murmured, and she smiled, slipping into a sound and restless slumber.

***

Ben now lived for the weekends.

For sunlit mornings with a nose-full of mahogany hair that smelled like violets and his arms full of soft, naked skin. For the comfortable companionship of her quiet art studio as brush touched canvas and papers shifted and crinkled softly as he worked at her desk. The smell of warmed skin, sweat, and soil, as she came in for a glass of water from the garden. Bitter and tart Sun tea that she sweetened perfectly just for him, and the melody of her laugh, which was swiftly becoming his favorite sound of all time. The dimple that flashed in her cheek, the way her body melted when he made her come. The way she turned everything she touched into art, like some sort of ancient act of witchcraft.

If he were any kind of a poet, he could have written her a thousand sonnets by now. But he’s not. So he told her with other people’s songs played through the crackling speaker of a record player. Showed her until she was drunk on him, through his lips, his fingers, his cock.

He was mad for her. Lost somewhere, spinning off out of orbit, never worried about coming back down to earth.

So it was surprising, even to himself, when reality sent him crash-landing on an afternoon in August as he looked across the busy intersection of the bustling city and saw Bazine, the dry, unrelieving wind of the avenue ruffling the material of her dress.

Pressing against and outlining a protruding, perfectly rounded belly.

His legs didn’t move when the light changed and the crowd flowed around him like a mountain stream.

It cut far deeper than he imagined. Pulling him back to their bedroom, his head on her stomach, fingers fanned out. She was a few days late. He was elated, she was furious.

“It’ll ruin my body,” she argued, with an unnerved sigh. At the time, he couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than her body with his baby in it.

Now, seeing her pregnant, knowing it wasn’t his, knowing that for whatever reason she had deemed him unworthy to be the father of her children, sparked something in him deep and bruising.

“I won’t have to worry about having children until I’m in my mid-thirties,” she said, after she told him about her implant a few days later, her voice tinny, wafting out of the cracked door to the bathroom as she changed her tampon. “I don’t need another scare like that!”

That was only three years ago. She had to have had it purposely removed.

He wanted to vomit on the street.

***

Rey sat up from her project, a secret gift for Ben, as her hand drifted to her lower back. It seemed like a good enough time as any to take a break.

On her way to the kitchen, she checked her phone. No messages from Ben yet, which was odd for this late on a Wednesday afternoon. It was difficult for them to see each other mid-week, with Ben’s penthouse being so close to his work and the school being clear across the city, yet an easy train ride in for her from the suburbs.

She had her head in the fridge, debating between a flavored seltzer or coconut water when she heard her front door open and close. Frowning, she shut the refrigerator door only getting a step or two away before Ben appeared in the doorway.

He was on her in an instant. Hand in her hair, the other gripping her ass. Looming over her, his mouth taking hers wholly, breath heavy, chest heaving. He was frantic, needy, desperate in his movements as he pushed her against the countertop, his hands rucking up the skirt of her dress before she even had a chance to eke out a protest.

Not like she wanted to protest.

He rubbed her roughly above the cotton of her panties. Not gentle, not like he usually was, and it set a little alarm off in the back of Rey’s head.

She pressed a hand on his chest and forcibly pushed him back.

He looked destroyed. Eyes broken, lips flushed. Pain practically oozing out of every feature on his face. It’s so palpable it momentarily paralyzed her.

She didn’t think. There was no time for thoughts. She grabbed him by the back of the neck, forcibly mashing her mouth to his and using the leverage of her grip on him to lift herself up toward the counter. His hands helped to deposit her there before moving to his belt, her thumbs hooking into her panties and shucking them off as fast as possible.

He jerked her toward him and he was inside her without hesitation. She was not fully ready, a delicious burn accompanying the fill of him into her.

He hissed from it too, but she pulled him closer, gripping again to the back of his neck, clinging to his shoulders, letting him rack her body with each brutal thrust.

This was not love-making. This was an anger-fuck. This was him needing her.

He choked a little, amidst the grunts and moans. She shifted herself, angling to better take him in, to let him consume her as he pounded her roughly into the granite. Widening her legs around him, she let him drive further, to take all of her.

The edge of the counter bit at her ass and she wasn’t really sure how she managed to stay perched as she was.

“I don’t deserve you,” he grit out against her hair.

“You do, baby, you do” she crooned to him, over and over against his ear.

When he came it was with a violent shudder and sputtering of curses as he buried his face into her neck, his hot, tensed body writhing against her.

She held on tightly still, peppering kisses across the soft material on his shoulder, below his open collar, up the curve of his neck. She nuzzled her nose there as his breathing regulated, holding onto him tightly, with her arms, with her legs, with him still inside of her.

He squeezed her, clung to her as if he was afraid she would disappear. Like she could vanish into thin air. It stretched for a few minutes, before he gingerly pulled her down from the counter, still holding her to him. She looped her arms around his waist, making a noise of contentment as they held each other for as long as they needed.

Eventually, he shifted back a little, and she was without the cocooning comfort of his tight embrace. She looked up at him, his face still sorrowful, as he traced the curve of her cheekbone with the side of his thumb.

Still looking wounded, he pressed his forehead to hers and let out a stuttered breath through his nose.

“Bazine is pregnant.”

He caught her before she could crumple to the floor completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Keep Me In Your Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6dscsGRjpxk)-Warren Zevon  
> (Chapter Title)


	3. Open as the door in her house that leads to her room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Beta on this one so all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> I said this fic was going to be a short one. Hope you enjoy it!

Rey watched as her fingers drifted over his skin. Soft, firm, and tinted the palest shade of blue in the moonlight that peeked through the curtains across the room. Rising and falling beneath the gentle, exploring pads of her fingertips.

Ben’s back was exposed, the lower half of him still covered in her sheets that twisted around his waist. Corded muscle rested as he slept on his stomach, one arm tucked under the pillow. His head turned away from her with inky waves messy against her white pillowcase, his entire body loose with deep, slumbering breaths. 

Her fingers moved mindlessly, connecting the spaces between dots in quiet appreciation. 

_Beauty marks_ , she recalled her art professor calling them. 

Although that term was historically saved for areas above the shoulders, where Ben was gifted a network of constellations she thought she could get lost in. She could genuinely spend days looking into his honeyed-brown eyes, searching his face for Cassiopeia, Cygnus, or Monoceros—tracing his plump bottom lip with her finger. Her tongue. 

A quiet sigh slipped past her own lips. 

She adored this man. 

It confused her and oddly comforted her. 

How could she still be so hurt by Poe and his actions, while wading, sinking knee-deep, into the sand trap of love with someone else?

And she _wanted_ to sink into Ben. Mesh into his warm flesh. Mold herself against him. Crawl under his rib cage and curl around his heart. Where she would keep it safe, and he could keep her protected. 

The duality and conflict of her emotions were puzzling.

It was weird, to say the least, to be living in limbo, sharing a mutual pain with someone whom you knew cared for you, but was equally confused, hurt, and angered by the actions of another. 

This recent hurt had ripped open some old wounds she hadn’t wished to revisit.

Ben had held her up in the kitchen when her knees gave out. When the breath ripped out of her like a punch to the gut, her shaking fingers digging into his arms, her face hot from tears that wouldn’t fall.

Poe was going to be a father. Her husband was going to be a _father_ , and goddammit, why did she even _care_ anymore? Why did it strike her in such a cruel and crippling way?

There were warm, solid hands on her face, her neck, her shoulders. A cold glass of water pressed to her lips as he murmured words of comfort. Ben was there, she reminded herself as she gulped down the refreshing liquid. Ben was there to help her. It was the one recent constant she was left to hobble on during this entire fucked up hellscape of a situation. At least she had Ben.

And Ben had her.

Her mind wandered back to Poe. The thought of him, grinning excitedly holding up a little red-faced bundle. To him making airplane noises in front of a highchair in a sun-drenched kitchen. The faces he would make while changing diapers, the enthusiasm he would have, cross-legged on the floor, urging a teetering child closer to him. 

All things she thought she would have too. All things she thought she had _wanted_. 

There was one time when she had idiotically forgotten to pack her birth control before a holiday in Mexico. Despite her warning him, and her knowing better, it didn’t stop them from having one too many all-inclusive margaritas and finding an abandoned beach bed, it’s white canopy glowing and billowing in the moonlight.

He crawled over her as the waves crashed nearby, pulling her sarong to the side. 

“Let’s have a baby,” he whispered, feverishly, pumping inside her drunkenly, his thumb grazing her throat. 

“What?” she panted, pushing back to look at him. The tequila had made her buzzy, languid even. She thought it might have also made her delirious. 

“Uhhh,” his head fell back as he moaned, grabbing at her by the back of her neck, then pulling her in for a kiss. He tasted like salt and lime and tequila. “Let me put a baby in you, Rey,” he breathed against her mouth, his pace quickening.

Two weeks later, after he never mentioned it again, she sat on her toilet and cried into her palms when her period came. 

Because somewhere, deep down, she had wanted it. A family. _So badly_. And he had all but forgotten.

After that, she got an implant.

Beside her, Ben let out a soft moan. Her hand paused in its tracing.

And now, all of that, her entire life with Poe, almost seven years, felt like it belonged to someone else. Like an old movie, having been watched over and over again. She could recite the lines, knew the entire plot, even the shocking twist, but it was like it wasn’t actually her. Like she was a silent observer, sitting on the couch, watching this poor woman from across the room on some shitty old tube telly. 

Yet, she still collapsed when Ben told her the news. Fell right into his arms, and he had held her up. Took care of her. Because he knew. She didn’t have to explain it to him. He felt it too.

Her fingers drifted up to the side of his oblique. She jumped when Ben’s folded arm snapped over her hand, trapping it against his side.

She let out a quiet chuckle. 

“I thought you weren’t ticklish.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game for someone who _is_ ,” he warned in his best old-timey speak, the humor in his voice evident. 

She wiggled her fingers from their trapped spot, and he released them, turning to face her. 

His warm hand landed on her bare hip and it sent a heated thrill rushing through her, toasting her from the inside out. She rocked gently into his touch.

In the dark, she could see his eyes as they moved over her skin, milky and exposed for him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, voice pitched low, gentle. 

“Better,” she breathed, fingers moving up his arm, curling softly against his cheek to cup his face. “You?”

He hummed, closing his eyes briefly at her touch.

“Better.”

The sheets shifted softly as he lowered to close his mouth over her nipple, strands of his hair falling to tickle at her chest. Streaks of anticipated pleasure licked up her core as her fingers slipped into his hair and his weight shifted over her. It felt perfect. Comforting. 

“I love you,” he murmured against her neck, the solid head of his hardened cock dragging through the already saturated split of her. Their moans synchronized as he pushed inside, her arms clutched to his shoulders, needing him closer. 

No matter how many times they did this, how many times he pressed in and forced her wider, the feeling of him entering her wrung the breath from her lungs.

“I love you,” she gasped, legs coming up to pull him deeper, take him in further.

It was slow, sensual. As if the hours of the night would never end, and the imminent morning light wouldn’t matter. Completely the opposite of what had happened in the kitchen earlier, but each equally exquisite. Every cell in her body tingled, softly igniting and yawning to life. 

“This would be impossible without you,” he told her, breath strained. “I couldn’t do it without you.”

And Rey nodded as she rolled her body against his, the surge of pleasure rising within her, threatening to spill and flood over every brim within her. Because she knew. She felt the same. 

  
  


***

  
  


She was still wearing her rings. 

It hadn’t really occurred to him as odd, because he had never actually seen her without them, but as they walked hand in hand at the weekend flea market, he felt it in his grasp. The rough scrape of a diamond and prongs against his skin.

It also occurred to him that he was still wearing his ring as well, all these months later. And she had never pointed it out, either.

What an odd pair they made.

He was standing awkwardly off to the side of a booth, the cloth bags they brought from her house filled with hand-picked fruits and vegetables recently purchased, dangling from his fingers. She held up a tinkling and sparkling wind chime made from sea glass for him to see, the mid-afternoon sun painting her face in streaks of blue and green. 

She smiled. God, he loved her smile.

“What do you think?” she asked, admiring it, holding it higher.

He thought he wasn’t really equipped to answer such a question. Surely she could make it herself, and he had very limited taste or opinions on anything that wasn’t made by her own deft, delicate hands. But it was pretty, he guessed.

His mouth opened to tell her such, but his words were stolen away by a delighted shriek over his shoulder.

“ _Benjamin?!_ ”

Ben closed his eyes because surely, this was not possible.

“Benjamin Chester Solo at a _Flea Market?_ ” His mother’s low-pitched voice teased. He opened his eyes and looked down to see her beaming smile and kind eyes looking up at him. Always appearing orderly and effortlessly presentable (which Ben knew _was not_ effortless at all), she wore her gray hair twisted back into a bun, a long sleeve white shirt under a cream and cozy-looking vest, and white jeans. 

Leia Organa-Solo feared no mud, nor slipped sauces or grass stains. 

One hand rested on her hip, the other extended out to his father, who was standing at her side in his signature dark leather jacket. “Han, check my pulse. I think I am having some kind of hallucinogenic medical episode.”

His father shared with him a secretive eye roll, which forced Ben to press his lips together.

She reached up, soft warm hands cupping his face as she pulled him down for a kiss to each cheek. A comforting hum rose from her chest as she pulled back and looked at him adoringly, his back slightly strained from the bend.

“How are you, sweetheart?” She asked gently, swiping a lock of hair off of his forehead. And for all the ways he could find his mother to be abrasive at times, it warmed him inside. 

“I’m doing okay, Mom,” he muttered quietly, eyes flitting to the side to see Rey taking a bag from the table vendor with a polite smile. She turned and froze when she saw him, nearly folded in half, his face still being awkwardly mushed within his mother’s palms. 

“I always knew she was bad news, that one,” Leia hissed, finally releasing him. He stood to his full height, face flushed a little from embarrassment as his hand raised to touch the back of his neck. “Never content to be where she was, always looking ahead for the next new and shiny thing,” she tutted, folding her arms with a frown. “Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want to talk about that,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Your father heard there was a man selling antique woodworkers tools, so of course we had to come down here and stand before a table full of awls for nearly an hour and then beat the poor bastard down in price—”

“Haggling is an art form!” his father piped up, holding up a paper bag that must have contained his most recent trophy. “And it’s a plane, not an awl.”

“What kind of woodworking do you do?”

Rey was beside him now, the eagerness and fascination in her voice apparent.

Both his parents blinked at her, confusedly. 

“Oh um,” Ben could feel his heartbeat in his ears as his stomach flipped. He hadn’t been this nervous since he took his father’s ‘77 Falcon out for a midnight joyride with Bazine and creamed a pothole going 30 over the speed limit, blowing out two tires. He shifted a little as his mother’s eyes trained back on him with an unmissable sparkle of delight. “Guys, this is Rey. Rey, these are my parents, Leia and Han.”

Rey shook their hands politely, and Ben did not miss the trail of his mother’s eyes over Rey’s cute, pale striped jumper, Chuck Taylors, and jacket fastened around her waist. Leia’s cheeks were round and rosy with approval as she raised an eyebrow to him. Ben had to look away before he strangled her. 

Unbeknownst to most, his mother was a superhero, of sorts. Aside from being a wildly successful entrepreneur and community leader, she also yielded an amazing hidden power. The ability to somehow manipulate you into the one thing you would rather pull your own toenails off instead of doing, but then make you be the one to offer it.

It happened like this:

They chatted politely for a customary amount of time. Ben mentioned they should get going. Leia nodded, she was _famished_ . Rey nodded in agreement, and Ben remembered seeing a booth next to the picnic area that made beignets, which he mentioned because she once said how much she missed English fritters. Leia hadn’t had beignets in _ages_ and exclaimed “what an excellent idea, Ben!” as she linked arms with Rey, conspiringly leaning in for a whisper and a chuckle, as they led the way to where the food stands were located. His father gave him a gentle clap of comradery to his back as they trailed behind. 

So they all sat at a picnic table and ate beignets.

Rey chatted with Han animatedly, drilling the old man for all he knew about woodworking. He offered for her to come by the house some time, which Leia piped up that she could make a fresh radish and dill summer salad from her garden, and they could have iced tea on the lanai. 

Ben’s knee bounced nervously under the picnic table.

Rey’s hand gave his knee a gentle squeeze. They shared a small, secretive smile before she excused herself to the restroom.

He waited until she was out of earshot before he turned on them.

“Really, you two?!”

His parents shared a mutual teasing look of innocence. 

“You didn’t tell us you were seeing someone,” his mother goaded with a hint of a smirk. 

“It’s…” he took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. There weren’t another two people on the _planet_ who could rile him up like these two. “It’s complicated.”

“Yes, I noticed the ring and wedding band.” Because of course, she did.

“Rey is Poe’s wife,” he said, plainly. Better to get right down to it, he figured. Rey could be back at any moment. 

They both returned blank stares to him.

He sighed again. “Bazine left me for Poe… Rey’s husband.”

Now they both wore matching frowns.

“How awful.” His mother’s brow wrinkled in concern as her gaze drifted across the dining area. “And such a mess,” she chided with a shake of her head and a sip to her lemonade. She pursed her lips a little, reaching across the table to pat his hand. “You’re a good man for taking care of her at a time like this, Ben.”

“You… are _taking care of her_ , right Ben?” Han asked a little lowly, leaning in.

“ _Han!_ ” Leia hissed, sending an arm into his stomach.

“ _Jesus_ , Dad!” Ben blanched.

Han raised his hands, eyebrows up. “Oh I’m sorry, I thought we were all adults here!”

Ben’s face burned as Rey climbed into the bench beside him, her hand once again sliding to his leg hidden beneath the tabletop. 

When they finished eating, his parents walked with them to the entrance of the market, where they began their goodbyes. 

“Ben,” Han said, frowning down at the dirt stamped hay spread out under their feet. “Can I have a word, real quick?” Ben resisted rolling his eyes and stepped off to the side, as Rey reached into her bag to show Leia the wind chime she had purchased.

“All jokes aside,” his father’s gruff voice rumbled. Ben watched as Rey lifted the twinkling network of smooth, colored glass into the air as his mother's fingers reached up to touch the pieces. “It’s good to see you smiling again, kid.”

Ben paused, turning to look into the kind hazel of his father’s eyes, surrounded by soft, weathered skin.

“What?” he asked softly.

Han gave him a gentle, lopsided smile, and roughly cuffed his shoulder. 

“Nice girl. Don’t be a stranger,” he pointed a finger at him, before giving him a loving clap to the side of his face with his hand.

In the car, Rey shifted as she fastened her seatbelt. 

“They were nice,” she said, a little quietly, leaning back against the seat with a hint of a smile. 

Ben paused, leaning forward a little, finger on the ignition button. When he looked at her, her smile only grew wider.

“What?” she asked with a chuckle.

He didn’t answer. Just smiled back before closing the distance between them and pressing his lips to hers.

  
  


***

There were times when Rey knew that Ben felt like he was an incredibly uninteresting person.

When she asked him about his work, for example.

He’d shrug, rattle off some sort of self-deprecating description of boring, and then try as quickly as possible to change the subject. 

Someone else did all of his grocery shopping, keeping the same list of minimal essentials fully stocked in his home each week, and unless it was the weekend, and he was with her, food was for sustenance instead of pleasure. A packed and ready to go selection of proteins, vegetables, and ready to blend smoothies.

He worked out more for the sake of habit and routine than a passion for fitness. Monday and Wednesday, intense cardio. Tuesday and Thursday, legs. Friday and Sunday, upper body. Saturday’s were exclusively Rey bending and lifting, and lots of rest. 

Even his clothing, he claimed, were just mandatory things he slipped into every day because it was what was required of him. He told her that a lot of times, he simply felt like he was a shell.

But that’s not how Rey saw him.

She saw his hidden beauty and skill in something just as simple as his penmanship. Precisely crafted, delicate, and gorgeous lines and loops of ink ranging from his notes to his signature.

She saw how he looked at things, studied them silently. How his deep and thoughtful eyes would hold onto an object at times, categorizing it, committing little parts of it to memory.

She saw how unafraid he was to risk looking like an idiot in front of her. To let his guard down and allow himself to be silly, no matter how much she could tell at times it was against his instinct to do so. He was so conditioned to be rigid and serious. A businessman. Watching him loosen, relax, and allow himself to soften enough to become vulnerable was maybe one of her favorite things. 

Like when he agreed to do yoga beside her in the living room, and they crashed with laughter into the coffee table in a tangle of upended limbs and appendages. 

When he let her braid his hair into fun patterns, his shoulders resting between her knees, his eyes closed, as Ryan Adams _Heartbreaker_ filled the house on a weekend night. When he turned and thanked her by peeling down her shorts and burying his face against her heat, his hair neatly pulled out of his way in perfect plaits between her thighs. 

Or when he agreed to help her with a project for the school play, arms spread, dutifully standing to attention in her kitchen, as a hundred or so strips of rainbowed fabric hung from his arms like streamers, and he spun, muttering a few lines of _Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat_. 

Standing in her classroom as he helped her set up for the new school year late one sweltering August night, failing to suppress a mischievous grin as he drew something on the chalkboard in the corner of her art room. She attempted to sneak a peek, but he blocked her way, shifting his butt in front of her, playfully pushing her away as he hid it from her view. Giving up, she went back to hanging her color wheel poster and organizing her paint station. 

On the first day of school, she looked up to see _B.S.+ R.D._ within a heart, an arrow passing through it, etched in red chalk. She grinned into her fist as the first bell rang and her new students began filing into her room. 

He was thoughtful, too. In uncountable ways. 

She could step out of her shower and there would be a warm towel, fresh from the dryer, waiting for her.

Just one passing mention of budget cuts, an entire box of art supplies appeared in her classroom.

An unexpected rain shower could have ruined her afternoon walk to the train station, if Mitaka hadn’t been waiting for her, umbrella in hand, ready to give her a ride home. 

“He said you forgot your umbrella today,” the driver told her, pulling away from the curb as sheets of rain washed in waves over the window. She curled into her own jacket, sinking into the leather seats with a smile. 

She often felt like she was possibly the only person in the world that got to spy behind the curtain that was Ben Solo and peer into his soul. Obviously she wasn’t. He had been married for nearly a decade.

So it was weird when she finally went to his penthouse and instantly felt uncomfortable.

She shouldn’t have been surprised by how modern it was. All marble and steel. Black, grey, dark and sleek and very… sterile. 

She joked from the doorway, questioning how on earth he could ever stand being in her house, with its worn, mismatched furniture and chaos of clutter and colors. Her socked feet shifted nervously on his plush carpet, toes digging in slightly.

“What do you mean?” He said from the kitchen, all chrome and porcelain, and nearly blinding white. She would be afraid to even pour herself a glass of water in there, for fear it’d leave a ring somewhere. “I love your house.”

As he was busy prepping dinner, she eventually moved from the door, wandering freely to explore the condo. Bedroom, bathroom, another bedroom, office. A floor to ceiling view that looked out across the glum and gloomy city on the rainy day, clouds seeming as if they were in grabbing distance. Looking down made her gut quiver, so she quickly turned away with a grunt. 

She found the master bedroom, its massive bed with military corners, looking more like a room at the Ritz Carlton than a comfortable daily sleeping space. 

Everything was so organized. Every surface either shining or plush, all at the peak of opulence.

She felt like a human-sized flaw. Like a greasy smudge on a perfectly clear windowpane. A faded stain marring the fabric of an immaculate piece of furniture. 

None of the art remained on the walls, and with some further investigation, she discovered why.

Neatly stacked against a wall were large scale photographs in heavy, expensive frames that stood nearly as tall as her collarbone. All gorgeously done, black and white, boudoir style. 

Bazine standing on an iron rod balcony, hair pulled off her neck, white sheet draping down, leaving her back and thong lace-clad ass exposed. She tossed a flirty smile over her shoulder.

How did someone even _get_ an ass like that? Rey marveled, briefly glancing over her shoulder with a clench to her butt.

The next was her nude silhouette on a chair against a white background, legs spread wide, back arched, arms up in perfectly waved and tangled hair.

“I could do that,” Rey muttered, as almost a bit of a challenge to her printed counterpart, before flipping to the next photograph.

This one made her heart do a little leap into her throat.

Bodies. Two very toned and very sheen bodies. Dark hair, white lace, a lipsticked mouth, and perfectly aligned teeth opened in ecstasy, and—Oh _God_ , was she looking at their personal _porn_ pictures?

The frames clacked together as she let them fall back against the wall. Her hands twisted nervously, and she glanced over her shoulder towards the bedroom door. Then she pulled the pictures apart again to look at the next photo.

A luminous neck, head tipped back, throat exposed. Ben’s thick, perfect fingers dipping below a black lace bra, his face pressed into her hair. Something in her abdomen tickled, and she shifted a little, letting out a hot, unsteady breath.

“Oh fuck,” Ben’s voice shocked her, and she jumped, the frames falling together once again in a clatter as she spun around. “Please don’t look at those ridiculous things.”

“Sorry,” she breathed, face feeling hot from embarrassment and a bizarre mix of voyeuristic arousal. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

He leaned against the doorway, still in his work clothes, sans jacket. All perfectly unwrinkled cotton, and wool. Sleeves rolled up to reveal his still stupidly toned forearms and a watch that probably cost twice as much as her first car. 

Rey looked down at her hands, the remnants of dried paint still lingering beneath some of her fingernails. Her dress was from the clearance rack at Target. Her socks looked dull against the shock of white carpet below her.

_Who even has white carpet, anyway?_

She clenched her fists.

The feeling that she didn’t belong here rose up from that stupid snowy carpet, creeping up her calves, gulping up her knees and thighs. It swallowed her down to her shoulders, inadequacy slurping her up as it took her over. 

She _didn’t_ belong here. Not in this neat and clean and perfect place. Some scrappy, hand-me-down nobody, playing house with a man like this. Who was she fooling? She was a low-income suburban frump who was way too far out of her league. Poe had seen it. Eventually Ben would too.

She felt hot all over. And angry. Something old, aching, and familiar returning to her. The feeling of being unworthy. Knowing that she was less-than. The inevitable reality that eventually, everyone saw. That no matter how it all started, how many heartfelt promises she was made in intimate moments, she would eventually become disposable. 

“Rey,” Ben said gently as if he could sense her rising anxiety, confusion clouding his voice as he gingerly stepped into the room.

Her arms coiled around her waist. She wanted to be small. She wished she could disappear. 

“Rey,” he said again, taking another step, approaching her like she was a scared animal. 

Maybe she was. She wasn’t really sure what was happening right now.

“Those are just some dumb pictures Zee wanted done a few years ago. I would burn them if I could, honestly, they’re embarrassing—”

“Are you just fucking me because you want to hurt her?” she choked, her breath straining in her lungs. She felt sick. Something about this space, something about how orderly and flawless it was, made her realize how very much she was not. It popped the rosy fantasy bubble she had been blissfully living in for the past several months. 

Ben couldn’t want her. Not after all that he had had. Not surrounded by all of this luxury and beauty, the world at his fingertips, the ripest of fruit ready for his plucking. No one could really want someone like her with all of that. Not really. She was such an idiot.

He looked like she had slapped him.

“A-are you joking? Is this… what the fuck is going on here, Rey?” 

She clamped her eyes shut and clenched her teeth a little. She gave her head a shake.

“I—I won’t be mad,” her voice wavered quietly as she swallowed thickly. She gave a resolute sigh. “I get that you were lonely, a-and so was I—I mean it makes perfect sense—”

“Stop,” Ben’s voice was sharp and loud, causing her to jolt a little in her skin. He ran a heavy hand down his face, looking addled and tired. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now...”

Rey’s heart sank a little lower. She was right. Her stomach clenched and her eyes involuntarily began to water. 

She nodded. She had been alone before Poe, she could be alone again. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything,” she bowed her head quietly, moving forward, ready to slip past him. 

His hand splayed out across her belly, catching her gently. 

“I’ll pitch those stupid fucking pictures right off the 30th-floor balcony if you want me to.” The timbre of his voice was low but firm. His eyes pierced her, pinning her in place. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. 

He let out a deep sigh through his nostrils then nodded. 

He moved past her to the pictures, quickly hefting up one of the heavy frames, ready to give it a final send-off.

“It’s not the pictures!” she blurted out, rushing to stand beside him. 

He paused, frowning down at her, the enormous picture of Bazine comically pressed into his abdomen awkwardly.

“And, _God_ —you’ll kill someone—put that down,” she waved, hands raised to press against her forehead. Letting out a deep sigh, she clamped her eyes shut. She heard him place the frame back against the others and the solid warmth of him against her front, as he stood before her. His fingers gently wrapped around her wrists, moving them down to her sides. A soft brush of his lips to her hairline coaxed her to open her eyes, tentatively looking up into his. 

“I’m not fucking you to hurt her,” he said, voice soft but stern. His eyes seemed to dig into her, burrowing right down into the pit of her existence, making her feel stripped, exposed. 

“Are you fucking me to get back at Poe?”

“No,” she breathed, hands instinctively flying up to touch the sides of his face. The face that she adored so very much. Her fingers gently brushed into his hairline lovingly. “No, never.” She swallowed roughly, her eyes drifting down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. With a heavy sigh, she let her forehead press to his chest, her hands falling beside her face. 

He soothingly rubbed up and down the length of her back. 

“You have everything…” she began quietly. “Everything is just so _perfect_. Why would you want someone like...” a knot of emotion caught in her throat and her lashes felt cold and wet. “Someone like me. No one has ever wanted me… not for...” the words died off quietly, as her arms wrapped tightly around his torso, needing his warmth, silently praying he wouldn’t push her away.

She let out a relieved sigh as his sturdy, firm arms coiled around her shoulders. 

He swallowed thickly. 

“I hate this place,” he began quietly, mouth pressed into the crown of her hair. “I don’t give a shit about city views, or penthouse suites, fucking— _bullshit_ , artsy photoshoots which by the way, was awkward and uncomfortable as _fuck_ —” his chest rumbled a little with a chuckle. It made Rey smile softly, her cheek pressed against his chest. His fingers gently brushed through her hair. “I’ve never really cared about any of this.”

He stepped back from her, looking down and tucking a ribbon of hair behind her ear. Taking her hand, he tugged gently, and she followed, feeling a little sheepish.

“If I had my way, I’d get rid of it all,” he continued, as he led her to the bed. “I’d sell this place and buy a house on the beach,” gently, he guided her to sit, hands briefly spanning her waist, resting her comfortably on the edge. “Or, you know what, fuck it, in the middle of the woods somewhere. I’d never look at another city again unless it was framed and hanging in my doctor’s office.”

He knelt before her on the floor. Reaching forward, he took her hand in his, looking down at the pair thoughtfully. His thumb brushed gently over her diamond ring before he gave it a slight twist. Rey gasped a little, instinctively moving to pull back before she stopped herself.

Rey felt weightless as his fingers lightly began to work her engagement ring off of her finger. 

“It wouldn’t really matter,” he continued, freeing the metal circle from her digit, briefly examining it, before he turned slightly, placing it on the end table with a faint tap. Her hand hung limply, trembling a little in his palms, as his thumb brushed over the smooth shine of her wedding band. 

“The only thing that matters to me now is being somewhere with you,” he twisted the band, working it loose, freeing it beyond her knuckle. 

When it moved past the tip of her finger, Rey let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. She felt relieved. He had done something for her she hadn’t been able to do herself. A single hot tear was let free, sliding down her cheek. 

Ben placed her wedding band beside her engagement ring, turning back to her, both thumbs now running over her bare fingers.

“You’re the closest to home I have felt in years,” he finished, looking up to her, his amber eyes deep and perfect, resolute.

He leaned forward, brushing his lips to the back of her hand.

Rey’s heart floated in her chest as he offered her his hand, the brilliant platinum ring still in place. Inlaid, beveled, a flawless piece of craftsmanship.

She held his palm in hers with one hand, slightly shaking fingers gripping the ring and turning it until it gave. It was heavy, as she moved it from his fourth finger, holding it gently between her fingers and thumb. Reaching over, she placed it beside her own on the table.

With a deep breath, she raised his hand, clasping it in her own, closing her eyes and bringing it to her mouth for a kiss to the back of his knuckles. 

Ben made to rise, but instead, she slipped off the bed, moving forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he shifted back, securing her over his lap.

“Just you,” he sighed, relieved, as he looked up at her and she pulled the hair back from his face. “I just want you.”

Relief took over her body and she smiled. Every bit of worry and insecurity washed away as his mouth moved to her throat, hands pressing her closer to him.

She was going to take him right here. Laid out on this immaculate, milk-white carpet. Make him claw patterns into the fibers and yell out her name. She was going to make herself a place beside him no matter where he went. 

Because he wanted her, and she wanted him.

“Just us,” she declared before she seized his mouth with her own. His fingers were already slipping beneath the lacy back of her bralette with urging circles. 

“Just us,” he breathed back, like a promise.

  
  


***

On a regular Tuesday, the shit at his company hit the fan. 

Agents flooded the hallways, flashing badges, wearing lanyards and dark jackets emboldened with big yellow “F.B.I.” lettering, collecting boxes upon boxes and carrying them out of the building. 

Hux looked like he was about to drop dead. Face as red as his hair, yelling, sputtering, attempting to grab things out of the hands of passers-by. It eventually led to him getting handcuffed and escorted out shortly behind Snoke himself.

Ben sat back at his desk and watched it all happen in slow motion. 

As an agent flipped open a wallet before his nose, the polished spots of the shiny metal reflecting back his detached expression, he realized he didn’t care. 

He stood, stopping only to grab the silly little trinket he had tucked in the top drawer of his desk. 

The tiny symbol of affection he and Rey passed back and forth in hidden places, as their own little game. She had wrapped it in foil and packed it with some left-overs for him. He was planning on putting it in her medicine cabinet next time he spent the night, hoping she’d find it in the morning while brushing her teeth. 

With the small porcelain kitten and her faded, purple ball of yarn safely dropped into his coat pocket, Ben walked out of his office without a single glance back. 

  
  


***

  
  


The cursor hovered over a simple chatbox. 

**Are you sure you want to deactivate your account?**

She sat, perched in her usual spot at her kitchen counter. 

Seven long months ago, she sat in this very seat and watched in real-time as her marriage was cracked open in front of her, exposing a gooey and poisonous center she hadn’t realized existed.

Two days ago, a mutual friend posted a video of Bazine and Poe standing in a decorated backyard, popping two large black balloons, littering the air with a floating mixture of blue and pink confetti, and she realized she no longer wanted to do this.

Her divorce from Poe would be finalized in two weeks, and she was tired. Tired of the pity, of unintentional comparisons. 

She was ready to start her new life, without Poe or Bazine accidentally seeping into the outline.

Standing, she refilled the kettle and placed it on the range top, switching the burner on as she set out to make herself a cup of tea. She sifted through a caddy, stuffed with assorted flavors, settling on a cinnamon-spiced blend. 

Her surprise gift for Ben was finally finished. Months of back aching work spent maliciously piecing together thousands of chips and fragments of multi-colored glass. A mosaic, hand-crafted and lovingly put back together by her own hands. Remnants of their first time together, shattering what was left of their old life—repurposed, recycled, and saved—to create something beautiful. A full-length mirror she planned on hanging in her upstairs hallway, where they could see it every day. 

As she poured the steaming water into a mug, she heard the front door open, the sea glass wind chime playing a happy little melody announcing Ben’s arrival. 

He entered the kitchen, arms laden with two heavy cardboard boxes. She moved to help him, but he shifted them away from her, lowering his head and puckering up his lips for a kiss instead. With a giggle, she offered it to him, before he placed them on the table in the corner. 

“K through M,” he announced, moving to the refrigerator to grab himself a drink.

“Moving right along,” she smiled, sliding back to her spot at the counter. Remembering the two, tall floor-to-ceiling shelves that once held his collection in the heart of his condo, she knew transferring his entire selection into the recently renovated den was going to take many, many trips. 

The open message on her account was still waiting for her to click on her answer.

Ben had deleted his account months ago, unfazed, ready to be rid of the burden.

It was a blessing, really, once everything went down at his company. Thankfully, he was cleared of any fraud cases and allowed to walk free, unscathed by Snoke’s deviant backdoor practices.

He was already working on his own start-up, comfortably from the desk in her art studio. 

Popping open the top of a ginger ale can and taking a deep drink, his Adam's apple working as he chugged it down. She was already thinking about pulling that new Ramone’s t-shirt off of him and bending herself over the counter as a willing presentation. 

As if he had read her thoughts, he lowered the can, eyes fixing on hers as his tongue ran over his upper lip.

“You hungry?”

“Starving,” she answered in a bit of a purr. “I’ve been thinking about dinner _all_ day.”

His answer was a growl in his chest as he tossed the empty can into the sink.

And yes, her ass lifted high in the air, the back of her legs stretched to exhaustion, toes pushed up to their tips as Ben pounded into her from behind was exactly as delicious as she had expected it to be. Far more so than the delivered pizza they ate happily afterward, sitting side-by-side on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder.

It was before they were ready to head upstairs to bed that Rey remembered the open laptop still on the counter next to a long-forgotten cup cold of tea. 

She tapped the keypad, the screen igniting to life in the dark kitchen.

Without a second thought, she clicked **YES**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> [Damn Sam (I love a Woman That Rains)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C0i3LyJXAjo) Ryan Adams  
> (Chapter title)
> 
> [Heartbreaker](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g_c1YM53Wwo&list=PLEvr99j7ruPxSylaPUpakDPVbjzBG8pRv)  
> Because it's just a great album
> 
> If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out my other works [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderTheCancerMoon/works) or say [hi](https://twitter.com/UnderCancerMoon) on Twitter!


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